The Music of the Night Reborn
by Phangirl-13
Summary: What might've happened if the mob caught the Phantom before he could escape. How he would survive, how he would escape. And be prepared for surprises! ;)
1. Prologue

What was happening? He was running away… away from what had been his home, his life, his sanctuary ever since he could remember. Why had it come to this? Running from a mob of angry opera house residence and the police. And why? That was the question. He had been so clever, so skillful in how he controlled the Opera Populaire. It seemed like child's play with the incompatant owners and the paranoid and ignorant staff. So what was it that had gone wrong? What had changed? But, he knew, of course he knew… her. Christine, it was because of her that all this had happened. She had turned his whole world upside down and he had let his empire slip through his hands. But he couldn't help it, he loved her. She was his world and her voice made his song take flight. He needed her and his music needed her voice, but that was all over now, now even that had slipped away. She had denyed him and betrayed him. She had chosen that insolent boy Raoul. She hated him now, she feared him, despised him, and yet… when she had left there was saddness and regret in her eyes, a spark of concern… concern for him. But in the end she still left, left him in the dark, the despair, and the silence. That was what bothered the Phantom the most about his situation, as he ran through the catacombs he felt the silence closing in, threatening to suffocate him. His whole body seemed to fill with it, and for the first time in his life, the always present music in his head… stopped playing. He only heard the sound of his feet against the stone ground, the sound of his shallow, uneven breath, and the sound of them on closing in around him. He heard them, their angry voices raised in a haunting chant that chilled the Phantom skin.

"Track down this murderer- he must be found. Hunt out this animal, who runs to ground."

"Too long he's preyed on us- but now we know: the Phantom of the Opera is there deep down below…"

Their monochromatic voices echoed in his ears, crushing into his head and his mind. He felt his body begin to shake and his legs buckled beneath him as he went tumbling to the hard ground. He lay there, defeated and broken. He felt no fear, no hatred, no urgency to escape his fate, he only felt the inescapable sorrow cutting through him like a knife. Then, they came. They caught up to him and surrounded him as he lay there motionless as a stone and equally as cold. He could only see the scene through a haze, as they surrounded him, beat him, cursed him, raised him to his feet and hauled him away. And still… the music did not play.

**Well here it is, the prologue of my new story. Please tell me what you think, I'm not real sure of it myself yet. Not sure whether I like it yet, but let me know what you think. Thank you all!**


	2. Chapter 1

Darkness once again enveloped him. He was forced to rely on his other senses, although those too were dull by the pain from the beatings and the sorrow of his heart. He heard the wheels of the carriage as it made its way through the streets Paris taking him to La Santé Prison, he felt the cold, heavy chains cutting into his wrists, he could smell the stench of the rags they had used to blind and gag him, and he heard the vicious words of people in the street as they discovered who it was they carried in the back.

"Death to the murderer!"

"Lock up the freak!"

"Send the devil back to Hell where it belongs!"

The Phantom listened to each venomous word. He tried to make out each syllable, hoping that they would spark the hatred in him that had become his closest companion over the years. But now, there was nothing, it too had abandoned him, just like so many others in the past; his mother, society… Christine. Oh, Christine, just the thought of her created fresh waves of crushing grief in his heart.

"Christine… Christine." Even through the gag, saying her name left a bitter sweet taste in his mouth. Against his better judgement he began reminiscing on the time when she cared for him, cherished him and his teachings, the time when she was captivated by him and the mysteries of his world, the time when she loved him. He felt the disdainful tears struggling to the surface. At that moment the carriage came to an abrupt halt and the Phantom heard the men step down and come over to the back. They threw open the doors and hauled him out. The fresh air hit him and he flinched against its assault. He had not been out in the open world longer than he could remember, it frightened him and intrigued him at the same time.

"Move!" Demanded one of the men who escorted him, but he just stood there captivated simply by the sounds and smells of this strange world that was so foreign to him.

"I said move freak!" The man shouted and struck him on the back of the head sending him sprawling to the ground, his ears ringing. He heard the cheers of approval from various people in the street. The men forced him to his feet again, and led him away. He felt a change in the air and knew that they must have entered a building which must have been La Santé. They led him along corridor after corridor, not for a moment letting him find his bearings. He tried to count the number of right and left turns they made, but they would not give him the opportunity. Pushing and shoving him against walls and to the floor, the Phantom's ears rang and he could feel fresh blood flowing down his mouth and nose.

"Stop stalling freak!" One of the men said, dragging him to his feet once more. The other guard who had remained silent until now leaned over to whisperer in the Phantom's ear.

"Just hang in there, we are almost to the point where he will leave you under my guard." The guard said in a kind elderly voice. Surprised, the Phantom spun around to the source of the voice, only to be knocked down again.

"What are you trying to pull?" Screamed the younger guard. The Phantom could feel his consciousness slipping away and the floor beneath him seemed to vanish.

"Stop this Charles, much more and we will have to carry him the rest of the way to his cell in the High Security Zone." said the elderly guard. The young guard scowled at him.

"No matter, he is your problem now old man." He said visiously. Before he left he kicked the Phamtom in his side and smiled wolfishly at the elderly guard. When he was gone, the old man stooped down the the Phantom in concern.

"Are you alright boy?" He asked, the Phantom was confused by this he had never had anyone show concern for him before.

"As soon as we make it to your cell I will take of the gag and blindfold. Can you stand?" The Phantom nodded and the old man helped him to his feet. They walked on to the dark, damp, and foreboding section of La Santé. The Phantom could feel the change in the atmosphere, then he heard the cries and curses of the other inmates of the section.

"Fresh meat!"

"We'll see how tough he is when he doesn't have anywhere to hide!"

"Give him a few days, he'll be begging us to kill him!"

The Phantom was not afraid of them, he was not afraid of the violent guardsmen or of the dark, damp prison cell that the elderly guard now guided him into. In fact, it made him feel somehow safe, it reminded him of home. However, he was afraid of the empty void in his heart that used to house his beautiful music. The old man removed his gag and blindfold.

"There, you see? Just as I said. There is no reason to be afraid of me." He said holding up his hands in a gesture peace. The Phantom simply stared at him, confused.

"I will be right back, I'm going to find something for you to eat and to bind your face."

"Why?" Asked the Phantom, his tone mocking. "Does it frighten you, Monsieur?" The Phantom stared at the old man and was surprised when he in turn held his disdainful gaze with a calm and steady one. The old man chuckled, the Phantom glared at him.

"Did I say something to amuse you?" He asked him, the old man looked at him again with something that resembled compassion.

"Believe me boy, I have seen much worse." He said gently, and left the Phantom in a state of complete shock. No one before had looked upon his face without fear and contempt. When the old man returned he brought bread with cheese, water and a bandage.

"There you are, you should eat." He said, but the Phantom simply shook his head.

"You will need your strength for tomorrow boy."

"Why? What will tomorrow bring?" The old man sat silent for a moment, his head bent. After a while he looked up at him again and said…

"Hell."

**So I figured I should post ch1 pretty quick since the prologue wasn't that long. I'm still not sure how I feel about this story, but tell me what you guys think I always appreciate you guys' feedback! Thanks everyone! **


	3. Chapter 2

He had seen her in his dreams. She called out to him, whispered and sung his name. She embraced him and caressed his face.

"Angel, forgive me." She said softly, he smiled and brushed her hair away from her face.

"Whatever for my love?" He asked her, she pulled away from him and began to disappear into the light. She smiled as the silhouette of a man arose from the blinding light.

"Because I have found another. I no longer love you." She said, her voice a distant echo. She turned from him and entered the arms of the other man, the Phantom saw now it was the ignorant Raoul. The Phantom reached for her, but the light burned his skin and then he heard them sing.

"Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime. Say the word and I will follow you."

"Share each day with me, each night, each morning."

"Christine! Christine, I love you!" Cried the Phantom in desperation, but the images continued to grow smaller and more distant. He felt strange creatures emerging from the growing darkness grabbing at him, trying to pull him away into the shadows. They whispered his name, calling him into the abyss.

"No!" He shouted at them, kicking and lashing out and the invisible fingers. The darkness parted and opened into the fiery pits of Hell.

"Come with us, come... come..." They chanted and pulled him closer to the edge. The flames licked at his legs as they pulled him over. He grabbed at the edge and struggled to pull himself up.

"Let go of me! Let go!" He screamed, continuing to struggle against the dark creatures. He looked up and saw Christine a distance away looking at him with her chestnut brown eyes, the ghosts of a smile playing across her face. He reached out to her in pleading, desperation craved into his face.

"Christine!" He begged, pain laced in his voice. "Please, help me!" She simply watched, the smile growing on her face and his desperation increasing. "HELP ME!" He screamed. She shook her head and whispered...

"No."

She disappeared and left him. He stared in complete devastation at where she had once stood, tears forming in his eyes. The laughing, murderous creatures tore at his legs. Then, they began to sing, their voices haunting and blood chilling.

"Come now dear Phantom... Come dear Angel... We are your Angels of Death... The darkness awaits you now..." The Phantom still stared at where Christine had stood. He smiled sadly, closed his eyes... and let go.


	4. Chapter 3

The Phantom awoke with a scream. The dream had seemed so real. He could still feel the sharp, icy fingers digging into his legs and he subconsciously swatted them away. Cold sweet dampened his face and neck, his breath came in short, shallow bursts as he tried to bring himself back to reality. He closed his eyes and listened to the world around him, half expecting to hear the soothing silence of the catacombs of the Opera Populaire. He wanted to listen to the melody the silence created as it slowly was joined by the harmonies of the early morning bustles of the opera house residents preparing for the first rehearsals of the day. The dancers hurrying to get to practice on time because they woke up late, the chorus warming up, the crew preparing the set and chatting amongst themselves about the cast and other crew members. This was the music that greeted the Phantom every morning, it's beauty overwhelmed him and inspired him to create his music. But the beauty he was so used to did not greet him this morning, there was no music, there was no beauty, there was no inspiration. Instead, there was nothing but noise. Loud, abrasive noise from the other inmates calling out for someone... calling out for him.

"Bring him out! Let's see what this freak is made of!"

"You're in for it now!"

"Someone is gonna be checked out a little early today!"

The Phantom stood abruptly when he heard the guard unlocking his cell and his heart sank when he saw that it was not the kind old man who had helped him the day before. This was the other man, the one who had enjoyed throwing him into walls. His face was smug with a grin of satisfaction, he wore the face of a man who enjoyed causing pain to others, or at least seeing them in pain.

"Let's go freak, time for you to meet your new friends." He said viciously, he grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and threw him out into the common area. Dozens of faces stared at him, most with the same satisfied looks. One man stepped up to him after the guard had left and helped him to his feet. He was a tall dark man with hazel eyes that burned with a certain waiting intensity. He wore a smile unlike the rest, it seemed kind enough but somehow it seemed to hide something behind it that set the Phantom on edge.

"Hello, brother." The man said holding out his hand in greeting, there was a hint of mocking in his voice. "My name is Adam and this here is Sam and John," he gestured to two men who in turn stepped up next to him. The Phantom took a step back.

"Pleased to meet ya." Said Sam, he was a small man compared to the others and older too, he had greying hair and sharp, tierd eyes. The other man said nothing, only looked at him with cold, black eyes and equally black skin, and he was a giant compared to his comrades. The Phantom retreated another step.

"Hey now there's no need for that." Said Adam coming closer, his hands outstretched.

"Stay back." Said the Phantom, his voice hardened and defensive. The three men laughed and gestured to the crowd who, in turn, created a tight circle around the four of them.

"What do you want?" The Phantom asked, he searched for a means of retreat and when he found none he looked for something that could have been used as a weapon. The big man, noticed his wandering gaze and growled menacingly at him.

"Haha, now now John don't frighten him... that's my job." Said Adam with a cold, and serpent like gaze. The Phantom glared at him continuing to back away.

"What do you want?" The Phantom asked again. Adam laughed haughtily.

"Just a crack at the famous, genius murderer. And... a look behind that bandage." He said, the Phantom looked at him incredulously.

"What?!" He asked

"Is it true what they say?" Adam asked cruelly "Is your face as hideous... horrible as they say? Is it true that your own mother sold you to a freak show? Is it true that they threw you in a cage? Is it true… that yet called you 'The Devil's Child'?" Rage rose in the Phantom's body, his fist clenched and he shook with anger.

"Oh, I'm sorry, did I strike a nerve?" Adam taunted, the room seemed to rumble with laughter. Murmurs echoed through the crowd.

"Devil's Child." They said,

"Monster… freak."

Each word sent a cold rush of new anger and old hatred through the Phantom. His body was stiff and his knuckles grew white with fury. The three men closed in on him, their faces painted with the horrid curiosity and wicked satisfaction the Phantom used to see on the faces of those who had come to stare before. Memories of that life flooded back to him, memories of the men who would come into the cage they kept him in and beat him like a wild animal, who would tear at the meager scrap of cloth that covered his face. He heard them now, their cruel words, their curses and their laughter. He felt a sharp pain in his side and he staggered backwards into the sea of bodies surrounding them. Laughter erupted around him as they hauled him upright and pushed him back to the three men.

"Come on now freak, are you going to just let me beat you to death? How disappointing." Adam said, but the Phantom was no longer listening to him. When he had hit him, the Phantom had heard something, something deep in the back of his head. Eyes wide and mouth open he stood there trying to recapture what it was he had heard.

"Hey, are you even listening to me? You freak!" Adam yelled, he stood very close to his face now and the Phantom could smell his horrid breath, but he needed to know.

"Hit me again…" he whispered, Adam blinked in surprise.

"Wh-what did you say?" Adam asked incredulously. The Phantom snapped his head up to look him face to face. Adam flinched back.

"Hit me again, damn you! Hit me!" He screamed at him. Adam smiled and gestured at John who ran up and grabbed the Phantom around the neck and lifted him high off the ground. Again he heard it, and now he understood what it was. Music. It was soft, barely audible, but it was there, it had come back to him. As the giant man strangled him he smiled triumphantly.

"Why are you smiling?" Said the giant, the Phantom looked down at him with his familiar cold, calculating eyes and sly smile. He clutched at the giant man's wrist with one hand and with the other he slammed a fist into his right temple. He let out a cry of pain and released his grip on the Phantom. Immediately he ran at the giant, releasing some of the bandage on his face as he went. The man did not have enough time to stand before the Phantom was on top of him, he wrapped the strip of bandage around the thick neck and pulled. The familiarity of the snapping neck bones filled him with the old feelings of euphoria.

"Oy, let him go! You're going to kill him!" Yelled Sam, he tried to run to John but the Phantom shot him a glare so menacing that he, Adam and the other men coming from the circle were frozen.

"This is what you wanted, was it not?" He growled at them all, their faces showed both terror and a sort of hidden respect. Then he felt the giant man stop struggling and his body went limp, and his breath left his body. The Phantom released his grip and slowly stood to face the other two men, the circle had widened now and some inmates had snuck away back to the safety of their cells. Since all of the men in this prison were either in for life or condemned to death the guards did not bother to watch them. The way they saw it, there was no way of escape and if they killed each other it would just mean less work for them. As the Phantom stood facing Adam and Sam he once again heard the music, his music, but there was something different about this music. He didn't care, it was beautiful and it was his once more. He felt an overwhelming serge of hope and power that the music granted him. It was fantastic. He reached to the bandage and began to unwrap it, all of the onlookers who were left fled to their cells. Adam and Sam looked on in horror.

"Now, the-there's no need for that." Said Adam, his tone bordered on hysteria. The Phantom could not help but smile.

"What's wrong boy?" He asked mockingly "I am only giving you what you wanted…" Sam bolted away and left Adam there paralyzed in fear.

"I really must thank you," Said the Phantom, backing the fear stricken inmate into one of the darker corners. "It is because of you and your friends that I can once again hear my beautiful music."

"Please," Adam begged "Please, don't kill me. I beg you!" The Phantom smiled viciously and undid the last of the bandage. The look of terror and an ear piercing scream was the end of the Phantom's first day.

**How am I doing guys? Do ya like it? Please review. Thank you all! ^_^**


	5. Chapter 4

It was beautiful. This new music, the way it ebbed and flowed through various melodies and harmonies. The sound of it was mostly the same as before, but there were things that were added to it that changed the style. Random arpeggios and sudden modulations that created a tone of chaos and disorder. All the same, he felt in control of it all, the madness and the beauty. But he had nothing to give it life. A few days after he had killed Adam and his men, he had approached some of the guards and requested the use of some instruments. He told them that it did not matter what kind of instruments they were, for he had taught himself to play every instrument known to man. They just laughed at him, but there was a note of nervousness in their laughs. They feared him, they all feared him now, inmates and guards alike.

"You really think that we are going to do that?" Asked one of them coolly. The other one just nodded dumbly. So the Phantom began to think about how he could get his hands on some. He had to, the music was too beautiful to remain in his head, he had to hear it played.

'What can I do?' He thought, he searched his cell for something to potentially make his own instruments, just as he had done when he had lived in the opera house. Whenever he could not obtain what he needed he always found a way to make it. He could find nothing in his cell or in the common area. When he was about to give up hope, he looked up and saw all of the other inmates huddled in groups whispering and looking over at him. The music played louder in his head and a smile spread across his face. He had found his materials. He could not wait until the evening came.

He spent the rest of the morning and afternoon watching and waiting from the shadows. Trying to find the perfect person. And he did, he was a small, young man who looked to be maybe in his early twenties. He would be perfect to use for the higher notes and trills. When it came time for the inmates to return to their cells, the Phantom waited for the young man to pass by his cell. He knew that he had the cell right next to his, so the young man was alone when he passed by. The Phantom caught him by the arm and covered his mouth to stifle the scream. He twisted his arm behind his back and wrestled him to the floor. He held the man there, his face to the floor until he had stopped thrashing and his breath stilled. The Phantom released him and turned him on his back. Blood slowly dripped from his nose, his eyes fixed open in terror that was illuminated by death. The Phantom stared down at the corpse. He felt something strange, his chest felt heavy and he felt light headed. Was this guilt? This was ridiculous, this man was a criminal and he was sentenced to death either way, he was simply making his death worth while. Nevertheless, he felt this shame deep within him, he wanted desperately to undo his actions, to bring the boy back, to breathe life back into his cold body. Why? This made no sense, why could he not bring him back? Tears began to fall from his eyes. He angrily whipped them away and began to work.

He delicately worked to remove the boy's vocal chords and laid them across his bed to keep them clean. Then he used a spoon he had stolen and sharpened to open the chest cavity and worked on forcing out the ribs. Blood covered the floor and his hand and face. After he finished extracting all he could possibly use he work on finding a place to dispose of the body. Oh… he hadn't thought of that. Anxiety began to pump through him like a drug. The night watch was going to be making their routine check any minute and he had a scavenged, bloody body of an inmate in his room. Quickly he hid the boy and the scavenged materials under his bed and working to cover the bloody floor and his bloody hands with dirt. Then he quickly remove his shirt and stuffed it under his mattress. He left the rest to the hope that room would be shrouded by enough darkness and the guards would be stupid enough to pass by without episode. He closed his eyes and waited, and in the adrenalin filled moments of anxious waiting… the Phantom thought he heard Christine singing.

He only opened his eyes again once he heard the guards pass by his cell. He let out a relived breath and began to contemplate how he was going to continue his plan without arousing any suspicion to himself. There were a few abandon storage rooms that were never locked, it would be easy enough to store the bodies in there, they would eventually be found of course but there would be nothing to prove he had done it. Then there would just be the problem of where to store the instruments once they were finished. As he thought on he did not notice the guard approach his cell.

"Hello again boy." Came the familiar voice. The Phantom's eyes shot up to look at the interloper, rather cross that he had interrupted his thought process.

"It's you, you're the old man who helped me when I was brought here."

"Yes that's right. And I want to help you more, I'm going to help you survive until the time comes."

"When what time comes?"

"The time to escape." The look of surprise on his face brought a chuckle to the old man's lips.

"Don't look so surprised man. That look doesn't suit you. I'll be back to check on you in the morning." As he turned to go, the Phantom called out to him with a question that had been on his mind since their first meeting.

"Why are you helping me?" The old man stoped and looked over his shoulder and smiled.

"Because… you remind me of my son, you and he are much alike. And, well everybody needs to know that they're not alone. Wouldn't you agree? Erik?" He smiled again and walked off into the growing darkness, leaving Erik with his shock, his thoughts and a name… a name that he had almost forgotten down in the catacombs of the opera house. Erik… yes, that was his name, Erik Destler. The music hummed with a sort of satisfied tone and Erik couldn't help but smile, no happiness had ever come from his name, but having a name meant he was still human and he had one, his own name. All those years in the darkness had almost stolen even that from him. He closed his eyes and smiled as he once again began to contemplate how he would store his instruments, bring life to his music, and make sure no attention was brought to himself. There would be no sleeping that night…

Erik… Erik Destler… The Phantom of the Opera was human after all…

**Alright here is the next chapter, I must say I'm starting to feel it. A little bit at least. And for all of you who were telling me to call him Erik… patience my children! This is all a part of the plot and the big plot twist is coming and the climax will follow soon! Stay tuned! ^_^ I love you all!**


	6. Chapter 5

The hideous memories of his past haunted him in his sleep that night. Erik saw the cold iron bars surrounding him on all sides as the cruel spectators laughed and spat at him. They cheered as his master emerged from the shadows with his whip in hand and a box of matches gripped tightly in the other. Erik tried to retreat but he found his body frozen he tried to scream but his lips were sewn shut. He felt the familiar sting as the whip was brought down upon his exposed flesh, he wanted to scream, to call out to someone, to anyone, but who would help him? No one, no one ever came to help him, they all just joined in. He saw his master open the match box and light one dangerously close to his face. Erik's eyes watered against the heat as he tried in vain to squirm away. The laughter of the crowd intensified as the growing flames licked at his skin, the smoke filled his eyes and lungs as his entire cage began to burn. He still found himself paralyzed, but he had found his voice and he screamed... oh, how Erik screamed.

The scream woke up half of the cell block. Sweat poured from Erik's face and his whole body felt cold. Some of the other prisoners yelled for him to keep it down, they were trying to sleep, but Erik couldn't hear them. His ears were ringing with the sound of his heavy breath and the mad beating of his heart. Slowly he found himself coming back to reality. A nightmare Erik, he told himself, nothing but a dream. He took several deep breaths to calm himself and soon his heart found its normal bear again. He laid gently back down on his rotting mattress. He closed his eyes but soon realized he was not going back to sleep, so instead he proper himself against one of the walls and listened to the music. It comforted him just as it had before, but in new and exciting ways. It gave him hope, hope that he would indeed play his music again and hope that he would escape from this hell hole he found himself in. He had already figured out a way of storing his instruments and making sure that nothing traced back to him. He had found an abandon section of the prison that no one entered because they believed it to be haunted. A perfect place to play, he would not be disturbed and everyone would believe their silly superstitions. Over the past few weeks he had already created a nearly full sized piano. He disappeared every night after lights out (for he had mysteriously found a key to his cell one night after the kind old guard had left) and he brought his music to life. The guards blamed the deaths on prison brawls while the inmates themselves blamed it on the Phantom. The Phantom of La Santé they called him. Erik couldn't help but chuckle at the irony of it all, for none of them believed him to be the one behind it all, just as none believed him to be the Opera Ghost. The time he got to spend with his music made his time in the prison tolerable, as well as the company of the old guard whom Erik rather enjoyed spending time with. He would tell him stories about when he was in the army and about his wife and the child he never really knew. Erik would tell him how he himself never knew his father and the old man would smile sadly at him and take his leave. Erik found it rather odd at times, but he never questioned it. All in all, his time in prison had become rather enjoyable, but like all good things in Erik's life it was soon brought to an end.

"Erik, I brought you today's paper. I thought you had better see the headline." The old man slid the newspaper through the bars of the cell.

"Well don't leave me hanging old man, what's so important?" Erik asked taking the paper.

"See for yourself." The old man answered. Erik opened to the front page and his heart nearly stopped beating. There on the front cover was a picture of Christine, beautiful and beaming, her boy was with her and they were standing arm-in-arm on the step leading to the Opera Populaire. Erik read the headline and could barely contain his rage. It read: "The Viscount and Viscountess de Changny announce their grand re-opening of the world renowned Opera Populaire. After the tragic events that happened only 12 months ago, the reconstruction of the famous opera house has finally been finished, and it is even more breath taking than it was on its first opening. The newly wed couple has also announced that to celebrate the monumentous occasion they are going to be hosting a masquerade gala and they have invite all of the opera house's previous patrons and any who wish to attend. The beautiful and kindhearted Christine de Changny honored me with an interview to discuss the opening and the plans she and her husband have now.

'What are your hopes for the opera house re-opening its doors?' I asked her. She smiled warmly at me and responded without the slightest hesitation.

'I just hope to bring work back to all previous employees and bring joy to all who love music as much as I myself.' I asked her if she would be returning to the Opera Populaire as its leading soprano once again and she cheerily informed me that she would indeed be returning. I asked her if returning to opera would bring back any haunting memories of the notorious Phantom. She was silent for a moment and I was worried I had upset her, but when she spoke it was not fear I heard in her voice but sadness. And she said only this;

'The Phantom of the Opera was nothing but a story. The man who took his name is now nothing but a memory, and I refuse to be haunted by a memory.'

The article went on to talk more in depth about the opera house and the gala that would be hosted in just a few months, but Erik could not read anymore. Tear stung his eyes and he struggled to keep them away. Tears of anger, tears of betrayal... tears of despair. A memory? Had she forgotten him so easily? After everything he had done for her, had she forgotten him so easily? He slammed his fists against the cold stone of the prison walls, they closed in on him, choking him, suffocating him in his own fury. How could she? After all he had done! It was because of him that she rose to the top! It was Erik who had tought her to sing, it was Erik who gave her all she needed to accomplish her dream! It was because of Erik her beloved fool had even noticed her in the first place! A memory? How date she! Erik felt hot and cold at the same time, his vision went red and then black as the walls continued to close in threatening to strangle him. Erik almost didn't hear the old man when he spoke his name.

"Erik? Did you hear me? What do you think?"

"Of what?" Erik snapped at him, his music roared in his head like the sound of a million angry wasps ready to kill. The old man simply stared at him with his calm, cool gaze. Erik felt his pulse begin to slow and the music began to calm again, the old man had that effect on Erik, he was always able to calm him.

"I'm sorry." Erik said, "I just can't believe it." Tears again stung at his eyes and now he let them come. The old man waited quietly, consoling Erik with his silence.

"I said, I think it's time the Phantom made he great escape from La Santé." Erik's eyes widened with surprise at the man's words. Had he heard him right?

"Old man, what are you talking about? How am I supposed to do that?" The old man smiled and said,

"Oh, you just leave that to me." And with that he left. Left Erik with his thoughts, his sorrow, and the very slightest feeling of hope.

**Alrighty The Phantom is going to make his daring escape! Will he be able to pull it off? And who is this old man and why is he helping him? Hmmm? ;) well let me know what you all think guys! I think I'm starting to get a little more into this myself, so review and comment, tell me what you think! Thanks everyone!**


	7. Chapter 6

Erik had never trusted anyone in his life. Not ever. He hated the world, and the world hated him back. So why then did he trust this man? This kind old man who had helped him so much over the months he had been imprisoned in this hell hole, who knew about what he had done to make his instruments, and who now was helping him devise a plan to escape from La Santé. They talked, and planned for days. The old man gave him a map of the entire prison that had all possible escape routes as well as guard stations an change time, he had also labeled all routes with danger levels ranging from "safe" to "hazardous". Erik wondered how he had gotten all this information, and when he asked the old guard smiled knowingly, with a mischievous glit in his eyes that Erik couldn't help but find familiar.

"Oh, I have been working on this map since you were first brought here Erik." He said slyly, he laughed at Erik's startled look of surprise.

"B- but why? I still do not understand. Why have you helped me so much? I'm a murderer you know, you are helping to put a murderer back on the streets if Paris. And I'm not exactly in a forgiving mood towards those who put me in here. What makes you think I won't go kill again?" Erik asked, the old man simply looked at him with his calm stare and kind smile. After a moment of silence he spoke.

"Because I believe in second chances." He said flatly. And with that he turned his attention back to the map, a sign for Erik to do the same. Reluctantly Erik complied, but his curiosity was not satisfied and that night he lay in his cell wondering about the old man.

The next day the old man did not arrive for their meeting, Erik was slightly worried, but he didn't pay it much mind. At least, not until he did not arrive the next day either, nor the next or the next. Soon a week had passed since he had seen the old man. Anxiety began to bring on morbid thought of what might have happened to him. What if he was hurt? What if he was dead! What if he had been caught with the map? What if he had been discovered trying to help him escape? Oh God, what if he had been killed because he had been trying to help Erik? Erik would not be able to live with himself. He paced up and down the length of his cell in a state of complete panic as the eighth day was nearing its close. He was about to go ask one of the other guards about him, when he heard the sound of frantic running feet, a shot, loud voices, a second shot, then silence. Erik backed into a dark corner of his cell and waited to see who the intruder was. Sweat beaded on his brow and his heart races within his chest. A dark figure approached his cell and called out for him. Erik let out a relieved sigh and moved over to the old man. Erik's smile slid from his face when he saw the look of distress on the man's face.

"What is it, what's wrong? Who was shoting?" Erik asked anxiously.

"I was… you need to escape tonight. And we need to be swift, time is running short."

"I don't understand, why? What has happened?" The old man unlocked his cell and Erik stepped out.

"There's no time to explain, Erik… you need to trust me now. Do you trust me?" The old man looked at him expectantly. Erik hesitated, did he? He knew he did, but he still didn't know why...

"Yes." Erik said, and that was the trigger. Everything went off like gunfire. The old man led him through various halls and corridors, trying to avoid the bustling guards who had been alerted by the two shots the old man must have fired at the other guards that guarded the high security zone. They encountered one or two, but the old man shot them down quickly. He leds Erik out through a secret exit out into the night sky. Erik looks up to the sky breathing in the fresh air again. The old man pushes him telling him to go and not look back.

"What about you!" Erik asks, the old man smiles at him.

"Don't worry about me, I'll just tell them that you stole my gun and knocked me out." He toses Erik the gun.

"Thank you." Erik says, the old man smiles and assures that they probably will not meet again. As he watches Erik go his smile fades and tears fall down his wrinkled checks.

"Good luck… son." And he goes back into the prison. The next morning La Santé announces that a prisoner has escaped and that there is an opening for five guard positions… the old guard only killed four… and no one ever heard from him again.

Meanwhile in the sewers of Paris, the Phantom of the Opera prepares to make his grand re-entrance into the Opera Populaire and into the life of one Christine Daae. And it will certainly be a night she will not forget, and he will no longer be 'only a memory'.

**I'm back everyone! Sorry for the long hiatus, but I'm back and cooking with fire! Please read and review, and if you like me and my writing please refer me to your friends, your peeps, your home skillets if you will. Will Erik be able to win over Christine? What will happen? You'll just have to wait and find out. ^_^**


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